


Beginnings

by sixbeforelunch



Category: Pride and Prejudice
Genre: First Meetings, Gen, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-04 19:17:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixbeforelunch/pseuds/sixbeforelunch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Bingley makes a fool out of himself but it turns out alright in the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beginnings

His cravat was too tight. Bingley knew he should be paying attention to other things. This was, as he had been reminded many times, an opportunity that was not likely to be repeated in the near future. It was an opportunity that by all rights should not have been afforded to one of his age, an opportunity that men five years his senior and twice his consequence would have sacrificed a toe, or at least a tooth, for. He was seated in a room with men of fashion, stature, wealth, and power. He should be making himself as agreeable as possible, concentrating on saying all the right things. He should be forging _connections_ which were, his uncle told him, the most vital thing to a young man in his position, in possession of a fortune but no great heritage.

He forced his concentration back to the conversation at hand. Another man had entered the room while his mind had been wandering. Bingley wondered idly who he was, but did not expect an introduction. As the lowest ranking person in the room by far, it was up to others to begin the acquaintance with him, and aside from Wilkins, who was already known to him, and Jennings, his host, no one much desired his acquaintance. It was clear that the introductions that had been made had been for politeness sake alone.

He had never been so uncomfortable in his life. He usually enjoyed society, but not tonight. All of the men here might be former and present Oxford men, and he might be on the cusp of becoming an Oxford man, but he did not feel be belonged. And his blasted cravat was going to choke him.

"What say you, Bingley?" Wilkins demanded and while Bingley tried to come up with a polite and polished way of informing him that he hadn't the scarcest idea what he was supposed to say about what, Wilkins fortunately added, "You have toured Pemberley. Is it superior to Kentridge?"

"I believe so, yes," Bingley said after not much deliberation. Kentridge was too much in the modern style for his tastes, he preferred the classic lines of Pemberley.

Wilkins threw up his hands. "I declare that there is not a man in this room who would dare to say a bad thing about Pemberley."

"I did not say that there was nothing about Pemberley I did not like," Bingley said.

Wilkins glanced at the newcomer to the room who had taken an interest in the conversation and said, "And what have you to say about Pemberley that is not overflowing with praise? I shall think you very bold if you say anything at all."

Bingley, feeling rather bold, and suddenly desirous of impressing someone, though he knew not who or how speaking ill of a place he'd very much liked would accomplish it, said, "I disliked the north garden very much. The plants were poorly chosen and the walks were too wide. I know not who had such poor taste in gardens."

"My mother," the newcomer said.

Wilkins his his smile behind his glass and one of the other men in the conversation chuckled openly. Bingley managed to say only, "Oh," and sent up a fervent prayer that his cravat would in fact strangle him to death, though of course it was not to be.

He endured several more awkward moments before managing to make his escape and, finding his way to a small unoccupied corner of the room, hoped only to pass the rest of the night without any more humiliation. He was naturally surprised when the newcomer, who was of course Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire, came to stand beside him and said, more gently than Bingley expected or deserved, "Mr. Wilkins set you up. It was unkind of him, though rather foolish of you to fall for it."

Bingley nodded, unable to raise his eyes from his glass of brandy.

"And my mother did indeed have abysmal taste in gardens," Mr. Darcy added.

That made Bingley smile and he manged to look up--and he did have to look up, Mr. Darcy was quite tall.

"I am supposed to be forming good connections," Bingley said, not at all sure why he was confiding in the man, or why he thought Mr. Darcy even cared about his concerns. "In that respect I believe my evening has been a failure."

Darcy narrowed his eyes and looked him over and Bingley had the uncomfortable feeling of being appraised. "Your evening is not yet over. Do you play piquet?"


End file.
